


Friends and Ex-Lovers

by scifigrl47



Category: Avengers (Comics)
Genre: Friends and Lovers, Get Together, Multi, Threesome, relationship fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-27 01:47:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5028964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifigrl47/pseuds/scifigrl47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha knows exactly what a good thing she's got.   She just thinks it could be better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friends and Ex-Lovers

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly 616 comic compliant, with some MCU elements thrown in, sorry, things get muddled. We'll see how this goes, if anything changes, I'll change the tags, so please check before reading, okay? It's going to be a bit more adult than most of my stuff, but that's not saying much.

“What's she up to now?”

Bucky didn't even have to look up. He knew exactly to whom Steve was referring. “Trouble,” he said, grinning into his drink. He scooped up the heavy crystal tumbler in his left hand and turned, bracing his back against the bar. “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.” Steve leaned against the bar next to him, a champagne flute cradled in his hand. He tipped his head in Bucky's direction, a smile hovering around his mouth. “What makes you think it's going to be trouble?” he asked.

Bucky glanced across the room. “Because it's her,” he said, his lips curling up in a smile. “It's always going to be trouble. I mean, if it isn't already trouble.” He took a sip of his whiskey, letting it roll over his tongue, heavy and cold. “'Cause those are our choices, Cap. Either it is trouble, or it's gonna be trouble.”

“Maybe you shouldn't be grinning when you say that,” Steve said.

“Am I grinning?” Bucky asked, all innocence. 

“Like a damn fiend.” Steve sipped his champagne, one eyebrow arched. Bucky, well used to that expression, smirked back.

“Does it worry you?”

“Always,” Steve said with a straight face, and Bucky ducked his head to hide his grin. 

“Yeah, well, you oughtta be used to it by now, Rogers.” He tipped his glass in Natasha's direction, just the smallest flick of his wrist, and Steve followed the gesture. “I mean, I am.”

For a second, the crowd thinned, parting enough for him to get a clear view. She stood out, even at this distance, among the guests in their proper little black dresses and sober suits. Natasha's dress, a gleaming fall of dark red silk, trimmed with jet black crystal so she glittered with even the tiniest movement, drew the eye. She did the rest. Her hair was pulled up in a complicated twist, leaving the long, graceful line of her neck and shoulders bare, pale and delicate looking in the low light. 

At the moment, one hand was resting delicately on the shoulder of Clint Barton, her body canted in towards him, her bright red lips whispering something dark and dangerous in the curve of his ear. Clint, for his part, had his arms crossed over his chest, a stupid grin on his face. His shirt was already wrinkled, his tie slightly askew, and his hair stood up in uneven clumps, but he was laughing at something Nat was saying, his whole face alight with it.

From across the room, Nat caught Bucky's eye, and he arched his eyebrows at her. Half behind Clint's back, she grinned at Bucky, giving him an exaggerated wink. “Trouble,” Bucky mouthed at her, and her lips curled in a wicked smile. 

“Whatever she's up to, it's not going to end well for Clint, is it?” Steve asked, and Bucky chuckled.

“Man used to date her, and survived. Either he's immune, or his number's finally up. Either way...” Bucky turned back to the bar, nodding at the bartender. “If she needs my help, I'm sure she'll let me know.”

The bartender looked at Bucky's empty glass. “Another, sir?”

Bucky glanced at Steve. “How long do we have to stay?” he asked.

“At least another hour,” Steve said.

“Leave the bottle,” Bucky said to the bartender.

“And another glass,” Steve said. He set his champagne glass aside. “I think I'm going to need it.” The bartender, keeping a carefully straight face, poured a few fingers of whiskey into Bucky's glass, and fished another from under the bar. A moment later, he was pushing the tumbler towards Steve, who scooped it up, holding it in Bucky's direction. “Try to minimize the damage.”

Bucky clicked his glass against Steve's. “I can attempt to keep it from becoming an international incident, Steve, but that's about all I got in me tonight.” He took a sip. “Long week.”

“Tell me about it.”

*

“Do I want to know what you were up to tonight?” Bucky asked, padding barefoot across the bedroom floor. He always ditched the shoes first. Formal clothing wasn't exactly his favorite thing, but he could tolerate it. All except the shoes.

He'd burn the damn things if he'd had the energy.

Natasha, seated at her vanity, glanced up, catching his gaze in the mirror. Her lips curled up, a secret, wicked sort of smile that never failed to send a sizzle of heat through his bloodstream. He'd been half turned on all night, and that was more than enough to push him over the edge. “What do you mean?” she asked, innocence personified. But her eyes were hot as she watched him walk across the room.

Bucky paused behind her, bracing one hand on the back of her chair, watching with interest as her fingers swept the copper curls away from the sleek line of her throat. She removed her earrings, letting them drop, one, then the other, onto the polished top. Then, without a word, she reached back, sweeping her hair up from the nape of her neck. Bucky leaned in, his fingers going to the delicate clasp of her necklace. “Barton,” he said, unhooking her necklace and letting it fall into her waiting hand. The gems glittered as they spilled over her fingers, and she set it aside without a second glance.

Her teeth flashed in a grin, her eyelashes dipping low. “Noticed that, did you?” She turned in her seat, gesturing him closer with a crooked finger. Obedient as always, he leaned over, letting her unravel his bow tie.

“I always notice your cons,” he said, as her knuckles brushed along the underside of his chin. His breathing hitched. “Just like you, they're beautiful.”

Natasha's eyes tipped up towards him. “Flatterer,” she said, sliding the tie loose from his neck. It was a strange little ritual, one they both followed without comment, almost without thought. She always tied his ties before the night began, and she always untied them at the end. He knew how to do it, but he liked the way she did it better.

He liked the way she did everything better.

Bucky caught her hand, pulling his tie away from her fingers. “What were you up to?” he whispered, and when she arched an eyebrow, he pressed a kiss to her palm, to a nearly invisible scar that curled around the the base of her thumb. He'd put it there, and the kiss felt like an apology every time. Her hand swept through his hair, pushing his head up. “Or don't I want to know?”

“I suspect you do.” She cupped her hand to his cheek, tipping his face towards her so she could brush a kiss against his open, pleading lips. “I was just talking him around,” she said. She set a finger against his chest and pushed him backwards. He went, straightening up and backing off, giving her room to work.

“To?” Bucky took a step back, his eyes on hers the whole time, then shrugged his jacket off of his shoulders and tossed it towards the chair beside the door. She arched an eyebrow, but didn't say a word. Undoing the buttons of his shirt, he padded across the room towards the bed, letting the shirt fall to the ground in his wake. Yanking his belt loose, he dropped it onto the bedside table before tossing himself down with no grace but a great deal of relief. 

“A who.” She leaned over, slipping off one of her shoes and setting it aside. Her breasts strained at the neckline of her dress, and he lost his breath. “Spring is the time when a young man's thoughts turn to love,” she said, one leg sliding over the other. “And the rest of him turns to baser concepts.”

Bucky arched an eyebrow at her, and folded his arms behind his head, getting comfortable. It appeared she wanted to put on a show, and damn, he was fine with this. “Now, we're getting somewhere,” he said, grinning at her. She stood and walked across the room, her hips swaying, and he lost himself in the visual for a moment. Didn't keep his mouth from moving, though. “Who's the lucky dame?”

Natasha smiled. “Who said it was a woman?” She took a seat on the edge of the bed, sweeping her hair over her shoulder and out of his way. “Unzip me?”

Bucky sat up, reaching for her. He lowered the zipper as slowly as he could, making sure he didn't pull at the fabric. It was a tease for both of them, him as he watched the zipper part, and her as she felt the fabric loosen and fall away. She stretched, her back arching, her breath coming in a soft sigh filled with pleasure. Bucky lost his breath for a second, his breath and his head, and he leaned in to kiss the back of her shoulder.

“Thank you,” she said, her head tipping back towards him.

He knew she was distracting him, and he couldn't find it in himself to care. “Really?” he asked, his broad hand sweeping along the exposed line of her back, tracing the elegant curve of it down to the beginning swell of her ass. “Didn't know Clint had any interest in men.”

Natasha stood, letting the sleeves slide down the length of her arms. “Neither does he,” she said. She looked back over her shoulder at him, all gleaming skin and sweet curves and wicked lips. “I convinced him that it's not gay as long as there's a woman in bed with them.”

Bucky stared at her, brain coming to a screeching halt. “What?” he asked at last.

She turned, slipping the dress free of her breasts, her hips, and stepping out of the pooled fabric. “I might have had ulterior motives,” she admitted, stunning in a matching pair of lace panties and demi bra, and a garter belt that was designed to bring a strong man to his knees. Already flat on his back, Bucky just let his breathing fall into the rhythm set by the sway of her hips.

“Did you get what you wanted?” he asked, his voice rough.

She set a knee on the bed, her hands sliding over the comforter as she settled over him. “Don't I always?” she whispered. “And trust me. So did he.”

“I do not doubt it.” He stopped, and shook his head. “'It's not gay if there's a woman in there'?” Bucky asked her, stymied. “That's the stupidest damn thing I've ever heard, Natalia. Kind of offensive, too, you know that, right?”

She grinned down at him, pushing him down and straddling his hips. Her knees pressed tight to his sides, she leaned in, her elbows braced on his chest. “Don't get me wrong,” she said, one finger sliding along his lower lip. “Clint's got no problem with people being gay. He just doesn't think he is.”

Bucky's hands settled on her waist, his fingers smoothing over her skin. “You think you know better?”

She shrugged, and the lace of her bra slid against his skin, a pleasurable sort of scrape along his nerve endings. “Not my place to say,” she said, her long dark lashes sweeping low. “People do what they have to do to make peace with themselves, Bucky. You know that as well as I do.”

He damn well did. “And making peace includes finding a girl to take to bed along with his boy?” Bucky asked, now strangely curious. “How did you-”

“Oh, no, he likes girls well enough.” She reached out, tracing Bucky's lower lip with her index finger. “And it's easy for a girl to talk Barton into doing something that he already wants to do.” Her lips curled up. “Like that cowboy in San Antonio.”

“Uh-huh.” Bucky raised one leg, letting the curves of her ass settle against his thigh. “And you were just along for the ride?”

“I enjoyed myself,” she said, resting her chin on one arm, letting her other hand stroke over his chest. One long, manicured fingernail slid over his nipple, making him buck and hiss out a sound like a curse. Her teeth sank into her lower lip as she smiled. “I like variety. And I like to watch.”

His head swimming, he let it fall back into his pillow, gasping for breath already. “You hintin' at somethin' here?” he asked.

Her laughter was like the headiest liquor. “I've seen how you look at him,” she whispered, her lips suddenly at his ear. Her breasts were hot against his chest, her words even hotter against his skin. “You've got a type, Barnes.”

His eyes narrowed. “Fuck you,” he said, grinning through the words. “I do not.”

One fingernail slid along the length of his jaw. “Tall, built, blond and completely lacking in self preservation instincts,” she said.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. “Steve and I were never a thing,” he said.

“No, but you've still got a type.” She sat up, and his head swam with need. “And so do I.”

He hooked his index finger in the front of her bra. “And why do you think I'll agree to this?” he asked, because it was never a good idea to let her win too quickly. 

“Because between the both of you, you just might be able to keep up with me,” she said, catching his right hand and cupping it against her breast. He always flinched from that, from setting the cold metal against her skin, but she knew what she wanted, her face flushing as her head fell back.

“That's how you're talking me into letting you fuck your old boyfriend?” Bucky asked, laughing. “By insulting my stamina? That's not going to go over well with most men, Nat.”

“You've never been most men, Barnes,” Natasha said, her voice husky and sweet. “Which is how you ended up here.” She was breathing hard as she looked down at him. “Flat on your back under me.”

“I do like it here,” he said, and he tugged her down for a kiss. He breathed, and filled his lungs with her scent, with her heat. “This is what you want?” he whispered against her lips.

Her teeth snagged on his lip. “I won't lie,” she whispered. “I'm greedy.” Her eyes tipped up to his. “So the question is, are you?”

Bucky tried not to think about it, but it was a losing battle, now that she'd planted the thought in his head. His very suggestible, very creative head. Because he had noticed. Had noticed Clint's arms, and the long, strong length of his back, and the hard, calloused width of his hands. He'd noticed the way that Clint would half swallow the mouth of his beer bottle, not seeming to realize how obscene he looked with that wide mouth sliding against the hard glass, and he'd noticed the way that Clint stood, one hip cocked, the tight lines of his ass stretching those damn uniform pants. Yeah, Bucky had noticed.

He knew about the lies people told themselves to keep peace in their own heads. But he could come around to the truth a little faster than Barton could. He had that in him, at least.

“Isn't this the part where you're supposed to reassure me that I'm enough for you?” he asked, only half joking.

Nat leaned in, and the kiss was gentle, was delicate, as if she was afraid of bruising him. “You know you are,” she whispered, her eyes closed. “But I'm not enough for you.” Her lashes lifted, and her mouth curled up in a very slight smile. “Am I?”

He stilled. “Yeah. You are.”

She smiled. “Sweet.”

“You don't believe me?”

Her smile stretched. “Not my place to say,” she agreed. “What do you want?”

To not think about that anymore. To just be like this, the heat and the need and the flex of bodies, the things that he could understand. His index finger brushed a curl away from her cheek, the copper of her hair bright against the silver of his finger. 

“Think you can talk him around to it?” he whispered, and Natasha's smile was wickedness personified.

“I might be able to,” she said. Her kiss was hot and sweet and he held on too tight, wanting all he could get, and more. She didn't object as his arms tightened, she just let out a slow, hot moan. “If you really want me to, that is.”

Bucky's fingers found the hooks of her bra and undid them with a practiced twist of his fingers. “Not tonight.”

“Well, of course not. Tonight-” She rolled her hips against his, just to make him buck and hiss. “Tonight, I have other plans.”

“Any chance they include me?”

Her fingers scraped along his chest, her nails sliding along his skin with just enough force to make him twitch. “I think I can adjust things to work you in.”

Bucky twisted, rolling over and pinning her down. “I'd appreciate that.”

Her eyes flicked up at him, and Bucky had the strange feeling that she was exactly where she wanted to be. “Show me. Show me how appreciative you can be.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

*

“Drink?”

“Oh, fuck, yes.” Clint held out his hand. “Please.”

Nat handed him a coffee cup, and he took it, his hands wrapping around the warm porcelain. “Thanks,” he said, before taking a grateful sip. Then he stopped, holding it out in front of him so he could study it. He sniffed, his nose wrinkling. “This is coffee,” he said at last.

She sipped from her own cup, one eyebrow arching. “Yes,” she agreed. She took a seat on the chair across from him, settling down with a faint sigh.

“JUST coffee,” Clint said.

“Again, yes.”

Clint tipped his cup to the side, staring down at the dark liquid with resentment. “Where's the booze?”

Nat leaned back, bracing her elbow on the counter next to her. “You're in SHIELD medical,” she said. 

“All the more reason for there to be booze,” Clint said.

“Finish your IV and we can see if you're still thirsty,” she said, smiling around the rim of her coffee cup.

“My IV sucks,” Clint grumbled, going back to his coffee. It might not have been alcoholic, but it was strong enough to strip the lining off of his throat. He coughed, and took another swallow, letting the heat burn straight through him. It helped the ache, or maybe it just gave him another one. 

He ended up coughing again, and Nat studied him. “Why did you think I was going to give you alcohol?” she asked, crossing her legs. “You can't even handle your coffee.”

“This isn't coffee, it's liquid tar with some caffeine mixed in for spice,” Clint said. He drained the rest of it, ignoring how it made his eyes water. “Did you steal this from Stark?”

Nat's eyes went comically wide. “Would I do that?” she asked.

“Yes,” Clint said.

“Well, that's true,” Natasha said. She studied her fingernails. “Pepper wanted it to disappear. For some reason, she'd like him to actually sleep at some point this week. She replaced the pot with decaf, and I figured that you could use a pick-me-up, so I took it off her hands.”

“Pretty sure you're trying to kill me,” he said, draining the cup anyway. It did help, in a strange way.

“Try to do a guy a favor and this is the thanks I get?” she asked, taking the empty cup from him.

“Don't do me any favors. They always end up going badly for me,” Clint said, slumping back against the wall. He should lie down. But he knew enough about the medical staff to know that if he did, they'd decide he needed to stay the night. If he stayed sitting up, his back braced against the wall, he had a chance of escaping tonight. So he stayed sitting up. Even if everything hurt. 

“Fairly certain you're all out of favors anyway,” she said, sipping her coffee.

Clint's eyes rolled up towards the ceiling. “Actually, yeah, you can do me a favor. You can get your crazed boytoy off of my ass during missions.”

Nat gave him a sly smile. “Stop getting between him and his target and he'll stop yelling at you.”

“That is a lie,” Clint said. He flexed his hand, moving his wrist carefully, testing it. Pain shot up his arm, but it wasn't as bad as he'd thought it would be. Gritting his teeth, he moved it again, and again, until Nat reached out and wrapped her fingers around his palm.

“Stop it,” she said, and it was an order, for all that the words were gentle.

Clint stopped. “Look, I already deal with Steve chewing on me every time I step out of line and Stark's smart mouth, and Thor playing King-God-General, I do not need to add Barnes to the list of guys who think they can order me around.”

Nat sipped her coffee. “And what do you think I can do about it?” she asked. She sounded amused.

“Tell him to stop!” Clint said, and she gave a snort of laughter. He sighed. “Okay, maybe you can convince him that I'm reliable and don't need him to-”

She was laughing out loud now and Clint kicked at her ankle. She kicked back. “Oh, God, Barton, I'd have a better chance of success just telling him to stop and hitting him with a rolled up newspaper.”

“Can you try that?”

“That won't work,” she said, grinning at him. “It didn't even work on you!”

“Didn't stop you from trying,” Clint pointed out. 

“Yes, but I think we can assume that it won't work,” she said. Clint's reached up without thinking, intending to push his hair away from his itching forehead, and pain shot through his shoulder. Nat reached out and caught his wrist, pushing his arm back down. “Stop it. You're going to hurt yourself.”

“Think I've already done that.” He sucked in a breath, and another, waiting for the sizzle of pain to leave his nerve endings. 

Nat stood, reaching out with one pale, perfect hand. Her fingers smoothed along the tense line of his shoulder, smoothing along the nape of his neck. When she pulled him forward, he went willingly, sinking into the warmth of her shoulder, into the familiar strength of her body.

Her fingers sank into his hair, cradling his head against her shoulder. “You,” she whispered, the words gentle against his hair, “are a dumbass.”

Clint laughed. “Duh.” And then, since she seemed to be in no rush to pull away, he just relaxed in her grip, letting the tension in his body ease. He closed his eyes, curling against her, his arms slipping around her waist, and hovering somewhere on the edge of an exhausted, ruined sleep.

“Hey.”

Clint's head snapped up, hard enough and fast enough that dizziness swept over him. Nat, refusing to loosen her grip, steadied him. He swayed on the bed, his fingers biting into the thin sheets. When his vision was clear enough for him to focus, he looked towards the door.

Barnes was standing there, his left arm braced on the door frame above his head, his other hand propped on his hip. His uniform was streaked with dust and his boots were caked with dried mud, but his eyes were clear beneath the thick strands of his dark hair. He arched an eyebrow. “You all right?” he asked. His voice was brisk, almost impatient. The gleaming silver fingers of his left hand flexed into a fist.

Clint swallowed, his throat tight for reasons he wasn't really willing to examine. But he knew those fingers fascinated him. If he was being honest, both of Barnes' hands fascinated him, but he wasn't honest with anyone very often. Himself, least of all.

“Yeah, fine,” he said. His voice sounded rough to his ears, and he managed a grin. “Don't tell me you were worried.”

Bucky huffed out a sharp bark of laughter. “Now, that'd be a waste of time.” He pushed himself up, his body flexing with the small shift. Even when he was still, it seemed temporary, like he was always on the edge of an explosive burst of movement. “Glad you made it, though.”

And with that, he was gone.

Clint stared after him, his heart thudding in his ears. “He knows we're not screwing around, right?” he asked. “Because I do not want to get shot in the back because he thinks I'm trying to make a play with his girl. He seems old fashioned that way, and he has a lot of guns.”

Nat laughed, soft and low. “Bucky knows exactly where he stands with me,” she said, her hand sweeping over Clint's forehead, pushing his hair away from his stitches. Her nose wrinkled. “I thought you dodged the broken glass.”

“There was a LOT. It's hard to dodge it all,” Clint pointed out. “No, seriously, sometimes, he looks at me like he's just trying to figure out where to stick the knife.”

She leaned back, her eyes narrowing on his face. “Clint?”

“Yeah?”

“How have you ever managed to get a date?”

Clint blinked up at her. “What?”

She let out a faint sigh. “Remember the party the other night?” she asked.

He did. He remembered looking up, catching Bucky's eye from across the room, remembered the faint shiver that had chased itself across his skin. Even at a distance, he'd caught the dangerous glitter in Bucky's eye, the slightly mocking curl of his lip. The part of Clint that was not good at making life choices wanted to flip him off. The slim part of him that valued his kneecaps in their current, functional state, had wanted to gracefully extract himself from Nat's presence.

The rest of him said 'fuck it' and stayed right where he was. But he'd felt Bucky's eyes on him for a long time after that.

“I need you to stop touching me,” he said.

“See, I think you need me to touch you more.” Nat boosted herself up onto the bed next to him, her legs kicking through the air, a childlike gesture. Her eyes slid in his direction. “Or maybe Bucky does.”

Clint's heart skipped a beat, then kicked back to life twice as fast. “Yeah, that's a bad idea.”

“Why?” Nat leaned her chin on his good shoulder. “He wants you.” Her hair brushed against his jaw. “Why do you think he watches you? Why do you think he always knows where you are during the missions? You can slip away from everyone else on the team, even Steve, but Bucky always knows where you are.”

She smiled, the slightest curl of her lips. “He watches you.”

“Yeah, well, I'm a screwup.” His head ached. Everything ached, but his head was throbbing now. And everything that he wanted was all tangled up, in that pain, that low, straining ache. He took a deep breath, and tried not to think about it.

“That's the worst idea, Nat, Jesus,” he said, because it was true. It was not a good idea. He'd done it before, and it had been fun. More than fun. That was the problem. If it was just fun, if it was just heat and need and sex, he could've kept it up. If it had been just sex. 

He liked sex. But he liked Natasha more, and it had never been the same, after they'd broken up. 

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why? What-” He shook his head, because he needed to get some blood back into it. He was not going to get aroused by the very thought, not here, what the hell was wrong with him? “Nat. He doesn't even like me. Which usually, whatever, I don't fucking care, as long as everyone has a good time, but this isn't like one of our little-” He stopped, not sure how to phrase it.

“Dalliances?” she asked.

“Sure, fuck, whatever. This isn't like picking up some guy at some bar in some backwater city halfway around the world, Nat. I have to work with him.” He stopped, oddly hurt. “I have to work with you. I'm not the best teammate, but I've been working really hard to be a decent human being, you know?”

Natasha was quiet for a moment. “Steve getting married was hard on him,” she said at last. “He's happy for Steve, he is. But this changes things. It changes their relationship. They're still best friends, but there was a bond there that isn't quite the same. He's a good man, but he has a hard time shifting emotional gears. He doesn't want to be in the way. He doesn't want to make Steve's new life harder, after all. He's letting go, the only way he knows how.”

She paused. “How long has it been since you've had a date?”

The abrupt change of conversation caught him offguard. “I do okay for myself,” he said, defensive.

“In other words, it's been a long time,” she said. She slipped off of the bed, light on her feet. “Maybe you need this as much as Bucky does.”

Clint thought about that. “Are you asking me to throw your boyfriend a pity fuck?” he asked at last.

Nat cradled his face between her palms, leaning forward to brush her lips against his forehead. “I miss you,” she whispered, the words warm against his skin. “And I know you miss me.” 

Clint breathed in, filling his senses with the scent of her hair, her skin. He let his eyes close, and tried not to think of the way she was first thing in the morning, her smile sweet and sleepy, her eyes dark and cloudy for a few brief minutes before she was fully awake. The way that her hair went to curl against her pillow, and the way she stretched, her skin sliding across the sheets.

“It didn't work before,” he heard himself say. “What makes you think it'll work now?”

Because last time had broken his heart. She was right, he knew she was right, and the split had been one of almost mutual consent. Almost. He would've kept going, he would've kept clinging to the relationship, even as it fell apart, but she was smarter than him. She'd always been smarter than him, and when she gently and tactfully ended it, he knew she was right.

He didn't like it. But he knew she was right.

“It didn't work because you needed something from me that I couldn't give you,” she said, matter-of-fact. 

“Listen, I do not need to fuck around with guys-” Clint started, and she put a finger against his lips. 

“You really think this is about sex?” she asked, smiling at him.

Clint thought about that. “Yes,” he said.

She leaned in, and this time, her lips ghosted against his. “You're an idiot, Barton.”

“You're the one who wants to sex me up,” he pointed out. “So who's the real dumbass here?”

She considered that. “I don't want to sex you up,” she said at last. “I want to watch Bucky sex you up.”

The rush of heat caught him off guard. It shouldn't have. But it did. He sucked in a breath and his body shook with it. Her thumb swept over his cheekbone. “I've missed dating a blonde,” she said, her lips curled up in a wicked smile. “I just can't get the same blush out of a brunette.”

“Fuck you,” Clint grumbled, and Natasha laughed. “Wait, does that mean Steve and Bucky-”

“You're an idiot. And not everything is about sex. Think about it,” she said. She turned on her heel and headed for the door. 

“Think about what?”

She smiled at him, over her shoulder. “Just what we could have here.”

“No, that's... A horrible idea.”

“Yes, and that's why you're thinking about it.”

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck you,” Clint said, throwing himself onto the bed. Maybe staying in SHIELD medical was safer. It was certainly less complicated.a

“I'm trying, cooperate and we can get down to it,” she said, and then she was gone.

“Horrible idea,” Clint said, throwing his good arm over his eyes. And definitely did not think about it.


End file.
